Thursday, February 26, 2015

All the egg jokes the universe has ever made

This is a blog post the purpose of which is to use all the possible egg jokes in the universe. Once all these egg jokes have been made for once and for all, it is hoped we will be able to move on, to become involved in other fruitful and fulfilling activities, to forgive, and to forget.

For reference purposes, here is an egg.

It would be no eggsageration to say that this is an eggslempary eggsample of an egg. It doesn't matter whether you show this egg to your eggs-wife or your eggs-husband, all will agree it is simply an eggstrodinary egg. You may think I am just egging you on, but the yolk is on you. You can save that one for the albumen, for, after all, just how many yolks is it possible for someone to crack? It's all-white if you're a pavlova or just frankly discustard with the eggstenuating circumstances I have eggsaustively listed here, for omelette you get away with whatever you want to say now, because I officially declare these egg jokes ova. You can search all the way through your leggsicon for related egg-corns or whatever, but I'd be surprised if you could eggstend the yolk much further. Though, good Cod, I suppose you could roe out to really deep waters, but if you could make omelette out of caviar, that would be a real beat up, and we'd all end up with egg all over our face. Though now that I come to think of it, a positive Googolpleggs of words now occurs to me, so I might be some time....

To be continued....

Pleasing things

Round baskets.

Spotty animals. All spotty animals in general, but especially irregularly spotted animals as it is fun to look at them and try and guess where the next spot will be. If you are with friends, you could make a game of it.

An open window with a cat sitting on the sill.

Going for a walk in a nice area and passing by a street which you could decide to walk down. Even if you do not, the little glimpse of this street is soothing to the eye and remains as a future possibility for exploration.

A summer day when it is cool enough for you to wear a jumper, or lie in bed in the morning with a blanket on.

Wearing socks on the couch.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Hereby offering my services to farm out slogans for community radio

"Welcome to community radio! The station for the whole community to ignore!"
"It's got the word 'community' in it!"
"Something something something something vibrant something something something!"
"Help! We're trapped in your radio! Let us out!

Monday, February 23, 2015







Hey, it was either the weed or me, man.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Critic speak

The poems are full of fine moments of attention and crystalline, lucid images and overall the poems work to discover value and meaning in the world.
Crikey, I thought when I first read this, who talks like this? I mean, people have a go at poets for not using ordinary language (and we don't) but this slip - from a judge - sounds to me like it's coming from another world. I mean, if you're reading a book of poetry, could you imagine someone coming up to you in the street and asking, "Are the poems full of fine moments of attention?" "I'm looking for something with images that are crystalline, but also lucid". Huh?

Critic speak I've called it, because obviously, critics do it too; it's something critics and judges do in common - apply their critical faculties to a work of art and then describe it evaluatively. This isn't a particularly bad example - questions about just what 'fine moments of attention' are (is the attention 'refined', or are the moments of attention just 'fine', ie, good)? You see the same tics in music or art gallery reviews or whatever - the problem is simple, and hard: how to convey something of the experience of a work of art without, you know, actually reproducing the work of art? You can't, obviously, though you can try, which is why critics and judges tumble over themselves to produce language which tries to be both descriptive and coolly analytical, all at once.

Just this morning Dr Cat spotted the following phrase critically applied: "achingly gritty". Not so much mixed metaphor as mixed cliche - though at least it has more spring in its step than "grittily achy", or whatever. Mind you, once I was watching one of those ABC list programs where readers vote on their top ten favourite whatevers and the host - in this case Myf Warhurst - attempted to find the adequate critic speak for each of the books (okay, it was books). The top book was one of those predictable bestsellers, and Warhurst described it as "A guilty pleasure which we can all read without guilt". Um, okay then...though personally, I rather like the sound of the phrase, "A guilty pleasure which we can all read without delight", and I feel certain there are plenty of books this can be applied to accurately.

It might be fun to ask these sort of questions of critics at critics festivals, or wherever it is that they all hang out, though: "the book you're reading - is it achingly gritty?" "Does it cast a coruscating eye over the post-industrial subjectivity we are imbricated in, or is it more a lazy summer afternoon read that we should all make time for?" "Do you give it four stars, or is that the television guide?" Go on! Try it yourself! Let me know how you go! I'll just be right here waiting for you to report back.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Poem for over-interpreting

Poem for over-interpreting
She was healthy and wealthy and fair beyond words,
He was handsome and witty and tall
Together they went for a night on the town
And did absolutely nothing at all.

Poem for over-interpreting #2
They talked about Shakespeare and poems and cats
She thought him to be quite refined
As they stood all alone in the library stacks
And - wipe that image from your mind.

Poem for over-interpreting #3
He said that he couldn't.
She said that he might.
She thought that he wouldn't.
He said "it's not right".

So he ordered the fair-trade Latte instead. 

Thursday, February 05, 2015

From the Romance of the Weed


The Baron's hands staineth vermillion with the blood of 
our enemy

Step under or over, do what ye wille,
Yet I will stand here guarding stille. 
Further travel, if ye dare
Into my MASTER'S lands to fare.

Markes of friendes

If our MASTER you would see,
Why then, SIR, you must pass by me. 

Our puissant foe.

Sunday, February 01, 2015


Have been having some field days yesterday and today with the Baron and the Baron Mother, in Bright and Beechworth and surrounds. Speaking of field days, Freud would have a few himself if he heard half of the Freudian slips made, or maybe he wouldn't, because the Freudian slips aren't slips at all, they're all deliberate and unabashed and loud and clear. Allow me to present a small sample:

"Oh, look, naked ladies!"
"Another naked lady!"
"There's some naked ladies!"
"Naked lady, naked lady, naked lady!"
"Nice naked ladies in that front garden".
"Perhaps we should have some naked ladies on our nature strip".

The naked lady, as I'm sure you're all aware, is a flower, though that doesn't stop all of the sentences above sounding like the lubricious exclamations of a person with autism in a brothel. The last sentence sounds particularly lascivious, creating an image of sportive nymphs performing exercises from dawn 'til dusk upon the lawn. Oh, and walking up the hill today, the following dialogue occurred:

BARON: "Look, those naked ladies are hiding under some bushes."
TIM: "Now you're just doing it on purpose."

Is there such a thing, then, as a reverse Freudian slip, where a person uses a perfectly lewd phrase and actually means something completely innocent, like 'gardening' or 'doing a lovely bit of embroidery'? Because maybe that's what's happening here?

Va va va voom....

In conclusion, NAKED. LADIES.

(If that doesn't get the salubrious gardening types visiting this blog, then I don't know what will.)

"Look, naked ladies outside the church!" 
"Hey, there's a lot of naked ladies in this town!"
Email: timhtrain - at - yahoo.com.au

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